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(no title yet) |
a woman's poem
He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake.
My biscuits were too hard...
Not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right
He didn't like the stew,
I didn't mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and smacked him...
Like his Mother used to do.
| On June 17th 2008 gonzo4201 Said : | |
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Haha, I like this, very funny yet true, no one can compare to Mother. |


